


hold me down, i'm so tired now

by espressohno



Series: betazoid bones au [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Identity Issues, Light Angst, M/M, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, betazoids, this is a really hard fic to tag i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 01:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19938121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espressohno/pseuds/espressohno
Summary: Living on the Enterprise, being in such close quarters with hundreds of crew members and passengers, Leonard McCoy has no choice but to come to terms with who he really is. And it sucks. He finds comfort in the last person he’d expect.Or: Bones is half Betazoid and he’s been able to ignore it for most of his life, and then he moves to a starship and can’t ignore it anymore. Spock, for all his idiosyncrasies, seems to know exactly how he feels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don't remember what fic it was, but i read something a while back where bones could read everyone's thoughts, and it put this idea in my head (maybe from all the TNG and deanna troi i was watching at the time): what if bones was half betazoid. and i immediately fell in love with this au, and i figured it would be even better with spones, because who goes better together than a half-vulcan and a half-betazoid? (answer: no one)
> 
> all of my love and thanks to C for encouraging this au from the get-go, for going back and forth with me trying to plan it out, for diligently reading whatever i wrote even tho i sent it to her out of order. you are amazing! this one's for you
> 
> title is from Sky Full Of Song by Florence which i listened to on repeat while i wrote this

Leonard was a sensitive child. Or at least, that’s what his parents would say. He didn’t do well in big groups of other kids, he had trouble around strangers, he was somewhat of a sympathetic crier--well, a sympathetic  _ everything _ , really. 

He was a sensitive child, and nobody could understand why. It was always an issue with his schoolteachers, because once one kid started crying, Leonard would start soon after, and then it spread through the whole classroom. He’d join fights at school that had nothing to do with him, and then sit in the principal’s office afterwards with nothing to say for himself. He winced or sometimes cried out in pain when somebody else got hurt. He sat in class tapping his foot up and down and sweating nervously even though it was a fellow classmate who was making a presentation at the front of the room. Nobody could figure out why. His freshman year of high school Leonard took part in a frog dissection and threw up five minutes in while they were scrambling the frog’s brain through its nostrils. And then he dusted himself off, finished the dissection, and got a perfect score. 

After writing him off as  _ just a little more sensitive than normal _ , his parents and teachers didn’t bother to figure out if it could actually be something else, and Leonard didn’t bother either. He tended to avoid big, crowded spaces and anywhere where drama was bound to happen. He learned how to calm himself down when he inevitably got overwhelmed in social situations. Ultimately, though, he stuck to solitude. And sometimes he didn’t even feel like he was still that sensitive kid anymore, or like there was anything that could be wrong with him. 

It came in handy sometimes, too. Empathy made him a good doctor, and an attentive one. He always seemed to sense how his patients were feeling. It helped him to treat them, and then while he did he cleared his mind, focused on good things, on peaceful things, and watched as his patient slowly relaxed, almost like they knew how _ he _ was feeling, too. 

When he became a father, he could wake up in the middle of the night the second his daughter did, before she even started to cry from her crib on the other side of the room. He figured it was some sort of doctor’s intuition, maybe. Jocelyn joked that he had a superpower. She  _ would _ joke about that, at least.

When that relationship met its end, Leonard had seen it coming, too. 

So Leonard was a sensitive child, and a good doctor, and a wary lover, and a lone wolf. And then he ended up in space trapped in a big hunk of metal with hundreds of crew members and passengers, and he started to wonder if there was maybe something wrong with him, after all.

The word  _ Betazoid _ was always tucked somewhere in the back of his mind. Hidden away, more like, because he didn’t want to admit that it was probably a good word to use. He had studied them at the Academy, and felt entirely creeped out by how familiar some of the species characteristics felt, but that was back when his self-image was layered with so much denial that he was able to quickly and effectively decide that he was not a Betazoid, he was not anything, at worst he was just a Human with an empathy disorder. He settled on  _ just a really empathetic person _ , because he’d grown out of being able to call himself a  _ sensitive child _ . Even though Jocelyn had most definitely used those words not too long before. 

But he wasn’t a Betazoid, that couldn’t be it. First of all, he didn’t have those beady black eyes that creeped him out more than anything (his eyes were a perfectly normal brown, thank you very much, even if they sometimes looked darker in low light). He didn’t read people’s minds, and if maybe he had an extra sort of sense for knowing how the people around him were feeling, well that could be anything. And as long as he never told anyone about it, nobody was going to treat him any differently, or demand that he go through a shit ton of tests and experiments to figure out just what he was, or subconsciously start to keep their distance out of fear or disgust or pity. Leonard was perfectly fine where he was, walking a tightrope between not knowing and not caring. 

“Bones! There you are.” Jim smiled, looking over his shoulder to greet Leonard from the Captain’s chair after the turbolift doors swished open. He had a sort of air around him, everyone did the way Leonard’s mind perceived them, and Jim’s was bright, white and gold and reckless and earnest. His feelings were always so potent to Leonard, maybe just because they had known each other for so long. His excitement swirled around him like fireflies, some days. Or determination wrapped around him like layers and layers of bubble wrap. Today was just a normal day, and his good mood bloomed in the air around him like he was a lantern, or a lighthouse, right smack in the middle of the bridge. 

Leonard nodded at him, and saw all that light burn a little bit brighter before he turned his attention back to the helm. He walked over to take his post, leaning against the Captain’s chair so he could be there when Jim had something stupid to say. 

It was an absolutely normal day, for everyone else too. Nobody’s feelings were out of place. He watched Sulu and Chekov at the helm, felt the equal intensity of their focus on the ship’s trajectory, the healthy level of wonder coming off of Chekov in waves, the distinct feeling from Sulu that someone was missing from this moment--his husband, probably, and maybe his daughter too. Lieutenant Uhura was so focused that Leonard didn’t even sense it that much, probably because it came so natural to her. But Leonard could feel the good humor reaching across the room when Jim turned around in his chair to talk to her, and joke around a little, and he felt it from her direction again when Jim started to push Spock’s buttons next. 

From Spock he felt nothing, but that was normal, too. 

“Anything to add, Doctor?” Jim asked, voice cheeky, and Leonard realized he hadn’t been listening, only standing and spacing out and maybe indulging a little in the good mood everyone seemed to be in today. He sighed, preparing himself for whatever unnecessary conversation Jim was about to pull him into. 

“Concerning what.”

“Vulcan blood pressure. Spock looks a little stressed today, don’t you think?”

Leonard glanced to the side, where Spock was at one of the science stations, looking completely average and no more stressed than normal, as far as Leonard was concerned, but he did seem like he was at a fairly healthy level already of  _ annoyed with Jim _ . 

“The healthy blood pressure range for Vulcans is naturally higher than it is for Humans, Jim. Although I have a much higher heart rate and blood pressure, I assure you my emotional stress is unaffected by this, even though, as a Human, you likely would experience stress at these parameters.”

Jim blinked at him.

“What?”

“He’s insulting you, Jim,” Leonard said, which got the expected pretend-gasp from Jim and minimal eyebrow raise from Spock, this time paired with a nod in confirmation during the seconds that Jim was looking away. 

“I am simply offering insight into the Vulcan biology, Captain.”

Jim looked thoughtful. 

“You mean, the biology of Vulcans?”

And this time it really looked like Spock’s blood pressure might have spiked, and he was about two seconds away from actually rolling his eyes, but Jim’s laughter, and the heady amusement in the air around him, became too much of a distraction for Leonard to pay attention to whether or not Spock _ did  _ end up rolling his eyes. 

-

Spock was hard to read, bordering on impossible before Leonard caught on to the patterns in his minimal facial expressions and physical cues. Definitely harder than the other Human members of the crew who walked around with their feelings hovering like clouds around a mountaintop, but that wasn’t all bad. He appreciated the break, when Spock was around. 

As far as Leonard was concerned though, nine times out of ten, Vulcans were a pain in the ass. There was something about how tightly they controlled themselves that always just rubbed him the wrong way, and he knew they probably didn’t mean it, but it always felt like they were patronizing him with their level voices and plain expressions and hands clasped gently behind their back. Probably because Leonard didn’t have anything close to the amount of self control that they had, and standing next to a Vulcan he probably looked like an emotional child. So he just tried to stay away from them. 

Still, there were some things that he could appreciate about the Vulcan ability for control. Of all of the crew members coming in and out of sickbay, Spock quickly rose to the title of least worst person to deal with. Not that he would ever say that out loud, to anyone. But Spock, for all of his annoying meticulous words and gestures, almost had a calming quality about him. With other species, Humans especially, their emotions tended to bleed out of them and touch the edges of Leonard’s mind at all times. If they were in pain, which sickbay visitors often tended to be, it got way, way worse. Once a patient reached out in their agony of a misfired phaser wound and grabbed Leonard’s bare wrist and it was like their pain shot through his entire body. He’d run the tricorder over himself half a dozen times before he realized that it was all in his head, all the work of his stupid over-sensitive brain. 

With Spock it was different. Leonard never sensed anything from him, even when the guy actually was sick or injured. Anytime he was around the only thing Leonard felt was peace. So he decided he didn’t mind Vulcans so much, when it came to this. Only this, though. For everything else Leonard absolutely did mind Vulcans. 

They picked up a whole crew of them off of a damaged ship trying to make its way to New Vulcan, more than half of them having sustained injuries, and Leonard almost felt relieved that they were all Vulcans, because otherwise the treatment of a dozen injured people would have filled him with enough second hand pain to keep him up half the night. 

The injured crew members arrived at sickbay and it turned out that Leonard was wrong, and it was actually going to be a lot worse than a dozen injured Humans, which he couldn’t even begin to make sense of while he spent that entire shift feeling like his mind was under attack. The intensity of their injuries hurled into his psyche before he laid a finger on any of them. It was stronger than anything he’d ever felt off of a patient before. He didn’t know how he managed to withstand it, what felt like twenty voices screaming inside of his head, long enough to get everyone diagnosed and treated. The entire time he felt like he was about to pass out. 

As soon as he could escape from sickbay, even though the Vulcans were sedated enough for their settle down and release their hold on him, he practically ran for his quarters. Passing through the corridor for senior officers, though, he had an idea. 

More like a question. 

When he spotted the door to Spock’s quarters he figured to hell with it. At least he knew that Spock’s emotions weren’t going to give him any grief like all those other Vulcans did that day. 

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock said after the door opened. He was still in his uniform, except the blue shirt was off, leaving only his slacks and the tight black undershirt. Leonard realized at that exact moment that he had never once come to Spock’s quarters before. So it made sense that Spock sounded a little surprised, even though there was nothing of that feeling whatsoever poking into Leonard’s own mind. Spock had to be the exception, he realized, not the rule. He had to be doing something that those other Vulcans didn’t do. 

“How are you doing that,” Leonard demanded as he walked in, and Spock’s eyebrows rose just a fraction up his face. 

“Doing what, Doctor?”

“Leonard.”

“Doing what, Leonard?”

“You sound surprised, you act surprised, but I don’t feel it. I thought it was just a Vulcan thing that you don’t let your emotions through but it’s not, is it.”

Spock studied him for a moment. 

“Not exactly.” Spock gestured to the couch in his quarters, and it seemed weird that he would even have a couch. Or a bed. Or a kitchen. Leonard had never really thought about it but he must have subconsciously assumed that Spock’s quarters contained nothing but a yoga mat for him to sit on, motionless, while he waited in between shifts. 

He sat down heavily on the couch, anyway, and it was the first time he’d sat down since they took those vulcans on board. He let out a sigh before he thought better of it because holy  _ shit _ , he was so tired. 

Spock sat down gently next to him, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands woven together like he was trying to find the words to deliver some bad news. 

“Vulcan emotions are incredibly strong. Much stronger than human ones, but that fact is betrayed by our ability to control them outwardly.”

“And inwardly?” Leonard asked. 

“Inwardly as well. In theory. As children we are taught how to control and project our emotions to each other, and to other beings with psionic abilities. It appears that your patients today simply did not know that they needed to control their inner thoughts around you, and so they didn’t, and you spent the day at a level of extreme emotional discomfort.”

Leonard scoffed. 

“Discomfort,” he repeated. That word was way too fucking delicate for the nightmare that was in his head all day, treating Vulcans with second and third degree burns and smoke in their lungs from a destroyed ship. He laid back into the cushions, disrupting the throw pillows and basically just making the place his own. Spock didn’t seem to mind, but he did look over his shoulder at Leonard after he sensed him moving around. 

“Pain,” Spock corrected. 

“So you’re saying that if they knew that I could feel it, they would have reined in all of the screaming going on inside their heads?”

“Perhaps. It’s a more difficult task when one is in physical pain.”

“You’ve been my patient before. I never felt anything off of you, even when I had to touch you.”

“I try very hard,” Spock said neatly, and there was just barely something else that broke through the calm surrounding Leonard’s mind, something that must have slipped through Spock’s control. It was very faint, but almost like that feeling you get sometimes in the company of a good friend. Leonard wondered where that possibly could have come from. 

He squinted at Spock a little, but Spock didn’t seem fazed by it at all. He just continued to watch him from the other side of the couch. Spock was like one long, lean figure, when he was dressed in all black. Only his arms and his face were uncovered. Just one less article of clothing and it was like this was a completely different version of him. 

“Which of your parents is a Betazoid?” Spock asked, and the question really shouldn’t have floored Leonard as much as it did. He had asked a version of that question himself, multiple times, lately, just never explicitly using that word. Maybe it was the word itself, the way it came out of Spock’s mouth so plainly, that hit him so hard. 

“What the hell are you talking about.”

Spock blinked at him. 

“Okay, fine. I don’t know, okay. I don’t know why I am the way that I am.” Leonard dragged a hand down his face. “I was adopted, you know, so I don’t know my biological parents. I have no explanation for what’s wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Leonard.”

“Gee thanks, I’m cured.”

“There is nothing about you that needs to be cured.”

“I didn’t come here for a therapy session, Spock.”

“Why  _ did  _ you come here?”

Leonard crossed his arms over his chest, biting at the inside of his bottom lip, and actually thought about it. He didn’t really have a good answer for that. He pretty much just saw Spock’s door and rang the buzzer without thinking too long about it. Maybe he needed confirmation, somehow. He’d needed Spock to tell him that his suspicions were correct. 

The only problem was that by confirming that he was intentionally projecting his emotions to Leonard, Spock was also confirming that Leonard was capable of telling the difference. He had already sort of accepted, albeit in an indirect way, that he might be part Betazoid. Somebody else being aware of it somehow made it worse. 

“How did you know.”

“That you are part Betazoid?”

Leonard gritted his teeth a little bit.

“What else would I be asking about?”

“The word Betazoid seems to cause you discomfort.”

“Everything causes me discomfort,” Leonard said, “And you’re changing the subject.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth turned up a little bit. If he wasn’t so exhausted Leonard would really have been struggling with how weird this whole situation was. Being in Spock’s quarters after hours, on Spock’s couch, with Spock partially undressed, smiling at him in the way that he did. Something about it, the whole thing, just felt inappropriate. 

“After the destruction of Vulcan,” Spock began, and Leonard watched him closely, close enough that he could actually see the physical indicators of Spock holding back his surface emotions from Leonard’s reach. He was almost in awe of it. He remembered how Spock’s misery had felt like it was covering the entire ship back then. And now there was almost nothing. 

“I could feel that someone on the ship kept projecting to me. Feelings of sympathy, or peace. Their efforts were ineffective, but I could still feel it. After a few days I realized that the feeling was only there when you were in the room, and I knew it was you.”

“I wasn’t _ projecting _ . I don’t project.” The word sounded weird coming out of his mouth, like he wasn’t allowed to use it. Spock continued to watch him with an expression that Leonard used to dismiss as  _ blank _ , but knowing what he knew now, there were probably intense emotions behind it, kept safe within the stronghold of his mind. Leonard almost felt curious about them. 

“You do, but it’s possible that you do not realize you are doing it.”

Leonard squinted at him. 

“You often project in order to relax your patients. Every time you touch me during a medical check up I can feel it, especially.”

That almost made Leonard squirm a little bit, to be called out like that. Or maybe it was the way Spock had said  _ every time you touch me _ in his candid tone. Something was making Leonard squirm. He realized, after a second of looking for a response, that he didn’t actually have to stay here on Spock’s couch if he didn’t want to. He could go back to his quarters and have a few fingers of bourbon and go the fuck to sleep after this terrible day. That sounded way, way better than sitting next to Spock and unpacking his genetic abnormalities. Leonard stood up off of the couch and could feel just the faintest bit of surprise and confusion from Spock. He hated that he could sense that, now. Hated that it probably meant that his coming clean about it apparently made Spock decide to open up his mind like that, as if he didn’t know that his emotional shielding was the main reason Leonard even  _ tolerated _ spending time with him. 

“I don’t like talking about this.”

“Very well, Leonard.” Spock sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap, watching him expectantly. Leonard shifted from one foot to another for a second and then nodded, awkwardly, trained his eyes on the exit a few meters away. 

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

“You should rest, after what you experienced today,” Spock said, and Leonard suppressed a groan. He glared down at Spock, because he didn’t need any goddamn sympathy just because he was genetically fucked over into having to feel everyone else’s feelings, and then he saw Spock tilt his head to the side and realized the bastard must have felt all of that coming off of him just now. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

“Whatever.”

“Until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Leonard made his way out of Spock’s quarters and to his own, and for the life of him he couldn’t decide if going there in the first place had been a good idea or not. 

-

They got all of their passengers to New Vulcan in one piece--thanks to Leonard, of course. Even though every shift he spent surrounded by Vulcans must have taken at least a week, each, off of his life. By the time they finally got there and Spock was escorting them to the surface, Leonard decided to make use of the two days spent in New Vulcan’s orbit to sleep and eat and sit in his office at sickbay and do absolutely nothing else. 

While the rest of the crew was spending their afternoons wandering around planetside, touring the new Vulcan Science Academy or doing god knows what else (Leonard had no idea what the concept of  _ Vulcan hospitality  _ could entail) he did his best to avoid any invitations or social interactions in general. If anybody noticed, they didn’t say anything.

Except for Jim, because of course he _ had  _ to say something. He breezed into Leonard’s office one afternoon just as he was going to finish pretending to be busy and call it a day. 

“Did you and Spock have an extra special fight or something?”

“Now why would you ever assume that Spock and I talk to each other.”

“Just seems weird that you didn’t wanna come planetside with the rest of us. Last time you did.”

Leonard sighed, leaned back in his chair, and figured he may as well tell Jim the truth. Or part of the truth. 

“I just needed a break from Vulcans after having a sickbay full of them. Spock included. But no, we didn’t have a  _ fight _ .”

They had something else, technically, but that wasn’t important. 

Jim nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest. He really liked to take cultural integration seriously whenever the opportunity presented itself, to an almost obnoxiously earnest degree, and now he was standing in Leonard’s office dressed like a damn Vulcan. Triangle-shaped tunic with one of those tall collars and long gray robe and all, the only thing separating him from an actual Vulcan was his trademark fluffy blond hair and thick eyebrows. It was simultaneously hilarious to look at and aggravating that the kid still managed to look good. 

“I guess I’ll buy that,” he said, and then took Leonard’s half-hearted smile as an invitation to sit. He ever-so-gracefully shifted the skirts of his robe aside to sit down in the empty chair in front of his desk, grinning at the way Leonard lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement of this ridiculous costume he had on. And then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and got a little more serious. 

“Do you need a real break?”

“What do you mean.”

“Be real with me for a second, Bones. We can go somewhere else--somewhere with less Vulcans--for a day or two, before we report for our next assignment. I mean it. Just tell me.”

Leonard dragged a hand down his face. Their Vulcan passengers really had taken a toll on him. If they’d come to New Vulcan in any other context he probably would have come planetside, Jim was right about that, even if it was for no other reason than to complain until Spock got prickly about it and started snapping back. And Jim was right about a lot of things, sometimes. He knew Leonard pretty well. Well enough that he could definitely see how bad he was doing. Leonard let out a long exhale, meeting Jim’s eyes, his earnest, open expression, even in that ridiculous outfit. 

“Yeah, actually. That would be good.”

“Good,” Jim said, “We’ll go somewhere. I think we could all use a little break. Especially Spock, after I made him take me clothes shopping this morning.”

“I was wondering who would have tricked you into thinking you look good in that.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

Leonard smiled at him, for real this time, and Jim rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair. 

“Hey I’ve got an idea. Maybe you two should spend more time together so you can make fun of me behind my back instead of to my face.”

“Great idea, Jim. I’ll make sure to never consider it.”

Jim, very dramatically and perhaps to prove some sort of nonexistent point, stalked out of his office, exaggerating the whoosh of his robes as best as he could. Leonard shook his head at the retreating form of this idiot who he was somehow still friends with, and went back to finishing his medical reports on their Vulcan passengers before finally packing up and calling it a day. It made it better to know that he had an actual break coming up, somewhere where he might be able to put his feet on solid ground. He left sickbay in a surprisingly good mood.

\- 

He and Spock did end up hanging out a few days later, on their little last minute weekend of shore leave, but it wasn’t on purpose. Jim had convinced them both to come out, by some miracle or perhaps divine intervention or maybe he actually bribed Spock, but they were on their way to get a drink when Jim’s comm beeped and he had to go back to the ship to check on an emergency in Engineering. 

Or maybe that had been completely on purpose, but Leonard couldn’t really bring himself to believe that Jim was dumb enough  _ legitimately  _ think the two of them should hang out more. Either way Leonard ended up having a drink one-on-one with Spock. And Spock actually  _ drank _ . Things quickly took a turn for the worse as soon as he learned that Spock’s conversations skills, when he was drinking, got ten times more personal and ten times more unsettling since he still said everything with the same blunt, clinical voice. 

“Do you wish you were fully human?” He asked, out of absolutely fucking nowhere. After a full week where Leonard had very reasonably assumed that the two of them were going to just pretend that their little late-night conversation in his quarters hadn’t actually happened. 

“Yes! No. God--I don’t know, damn it. I don’t know.” Leonard knocked back the rest of his drink. Even in a crowded, noisy, dimly-lit bar like the one they’d ended up in on this god forsaken starbase out in the middle of nowhere, it was impossible to escape from Spock, from his eyes, his voice, his goddamn inability to just drop a conversation topic when Leonard was clearly pulling away. 

“I just wish I could turn it off,” he continued, “It’s fucking annoying, okay. That I always have to have this--this  _ extra sense. _ Whatever you call it.”

“Psionic sense,” Spock supplied. Leonard nodded, finally feeling the alcohol setting in, making his face and neck feel warm. 

“Yeah. That.”

Spock just looked at him, studied him, really. He cocked his head to the side just a little, and then Leonard had no idea what happened. It was like a switch flipped. Reality shifted. All of a sudden everything was quieter, and he realized after a minute that the reason it felt quieter was because the only thoughts, the only feelings in his head, were his own. 

The realization itself was so overwhelming that he’d had to steady himself against the bar. He’d never, ever, ever known what this felt like. He could lie to himself and say that his heightened empathy--his  _ psionic sense _ , whatever--hadn’t been with him his whole life, but at this point he knew that it had. And now it was gone. Other people’s thoughts, emotions, secrets, they weren’t rattling around his brain anymore. He hadn’t even noticed before how consumed he was with feeling every trace of every other person’s mind in the bar. Without it, his own mind was essentially empty. 

He looked back up at Spock, who was still watching him, focused, almost to the point of intensity. 

“What did you do?” Even talking felt weird to Leonard, the way his mind was so quiet all of a sudden. It was like his own thoughts had too much room, more room than they needed, echoing off of the empty corners of his brain.

“I blocked the transmission of your psionic sense.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should hang out more often.”

Leonard turned to the bar, looking around for the bartender. Once he started focusing on other people around them, though, it got weirder and weirder. They looked like holograms, or like projections, or something. He was seeing only their surface appearance, hearing only the words they spoke out loud. He couldn’t sense anything underneath. It was like they weren’t complete people to him, without that. 

He waved the bartender over and ordered them another round, and it didn’t feel right; talking to somebody and not knowing how they were going to respond until they finished their sentence, not knowing how they felt about him afterwards. At first he’d thought it was so freeing, to have only his own thoughts inside his brain, but now the reality of it wasn’t sitting so well with Leonard. 

Even without being able to read it, Leonard knew that Spock was waiting for him to come to that sort of conclusion. He could see that Spock was tense with how much focus it took to block an entire fucking sense from Leonard’s mind. So he sat there and sipped on his second whiskey and let the guy sweat. 

“Are you satisfied with the experience?” Spock finally asked, which he knew was Spock-talk for  _ have I made my point yet you selfish prick. _

“I could do this all night,” Leonard drawled, even though he really wasn’t sure of that. It was already starting to creep him out. He felt like he was surrounded by ghosts, almost. Bodies without souls who spoke words without feelings. 

“Please do not interpret this as my offering you a service.”

Leonard snorted. 

“What else are those  _ psionic abilities  _ of yours good for?”

The corner of Spock’s mouth quirked up, even with how much he was straining himself keeping Leonard’s mind the way it was, and then the world actually went silent. So Spock could block out his sense of hearing, too. 

Leonard was conflicted. He felt more at peace than he could ever remember, but at the same time, this was all getting too spooky for him, especially the way Spock didn’t even have to move a muscle to play with his brain like that. 

_ I was hoping you would understand that your psionic sense is as integral to your existence as your other senses _ said Spock’s voice in his brain.

**_In his brain_ ** **.**

_ Stop that _ Leonard thought back.

_ Which part would you like me to stop? _

_ All of it. You’re creeping me out. Just let me go back to normal. _

His hearing came back first, and then his psionic sense. Spock was anything if not merciful; he let it come back to Leonard slowly instead of flooding his mind again with all of the feelings of all of the people in the bar at once. To his surprise, Leonard was actually relieved. He realized, bitterly, what he had said when he asked Spock to stop blocking his senses.  _ Just let me go back to normal. _

“That is the realization I wanted you to make,” Spock said. His posture relaxed again, finally, and he reached for his own drink, pulling the aluminum straw into his mouth. It was a funny picture. Vulcans had this quirk with touching their food, with getting messy, but still it seemed out of character to see Spock sipping his beer out of a straw like it was a mai tai. 

“Am I supposed to say thank you, now, Oh Wise Teacher?”

Spock squinted at him slightly, but didn’t take the bait, didn’t sass him back or change the subject. Somehow in all of his attempts to be an asshole Leonard still wasn’t able to shake this guy’s apparent eagerness to help. 

“You struggle to cope with your psionic abilities because you have never trained them.”

“And how do you suggest I do that,” Leonard leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling angst and excitement and sorrow and boredom and flirtation and belonging, coming from all different directions, mixing together in his head and keeping his own thoughts company. “Betazoid bootcamp?”

“If you like,” Spock took a pause to sip from his beer again. Leonard already knew what was coming next. “I will teach you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard showed up to Spock’s quarters, on purpose this time, because they had planned their first little  _ psychic training session _ (or whatever the hell Leonard was supposed to call it) at exactly 2100 hours. He rang the buzzer to his quarters at 2059. 

“Come in,” Spock said. 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, just that he was expecting something. Like maybe a textbook at least, or some other educational looking material. Instead Spock’s quarters looked exactly the same as they did when he’d first come over. The only difference was that Spock kept his full uniform on this time. Leonard almost felt embarrassed when he realized that Spock had probably picked up on his discomfort--or fascination, or whatever it was--with seeing him in just the undershirt. 

“So,” Leonard started, foregoing any small talk before things got awkward, “what’s the lesson plan, Mr. Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the prefix but otherwise let it slide, gesturing for Leonard to sit down on the couch.

“I thought we could focus, for now, on emotional shielding. I think it will ease a lot of your discomfort while you treat patients in sickbay.”

That sounded good to him, even though he might have been dreaming a little bigger a few nights ago when he was tipsy and Spock first offered to teach him how to use his  _ psionic abilities. _ It was probably best to start small. Leonard went ahead and settled into the couch and Spock followed, but paused before he sat down, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Spock asked, and in his head Leonard could hear his southern training tack on the unspoken  _ oh, gosh, where are my manners _ . He could help himself from letting out a little bit of a laugh. 

“No, I’m fine. For now, at least.” 

“Then we can begin.”

More than half of the theoretical explanation Spock attempted to give him, about how emotional shielding works, its many uses, its potential misuses, went straight into one ear and out the other. Leonard just sat on the couch and waited for Spock to offer some sort of summary. He didn’t. They stared at each other for a moment and then Leonard just said, 

“So my shields are not up right now, I’m guessing.”

“No.”

“So you can feel how much I did not understand what you just said.”

Spock blinked at him, and after a few seconds Leonard realized what he was doing. 

“Yes, I can feel that,” he finally said. Leonard nodded, against the fact that it really seemed like they were getting nowhere. 

“Perhaps it would be easiest if I try to teach you through trial and error. Since this seems to be your preferred method for learning other skills.”

_ Was that…..a joke? _

It must have been, the way Spock had that little glint of humor in his eyes. Leonard scoffed. 

“Yeah, perhaps.”

“I will lower my own shields, as well, then.”

Leonard waited, and even though he had experienced it before, and knew it was coming, it still came as a little bit of a shock when Spock took his own shields down. His emotions settled around the room, like a dog circling a few times around its bed before finally laying down. He was comfortable, at home in his quarters, a little bit tired after a long day, but there was still some energy there, motivated towards Leonard’s progress. 

“I think the first step would be for you to differentiate the feelings of others from your own. Once you know which are yours, you can more easily contain them.”

“Okay, sure,” Leonard mumbled. The room felt smaller, somehow. Maybe because he was so used to Spock taking up little to no space in his brain, and now he wasn’t holding back anymore. 

“So what’s something we disagree on,” Leonard asked. It seemed like the easiest way to go. 

“You might have to be more specific,” Spock said, and Leonard could feel the amusement behind his un-amused voice. It took him a second just to process that. Spock had told a joke, not for the first time, but now that Leonard felt the positive sentiment in it, the companionship underneath his usual sass, it sure  _ felt  _ like the first time he’d done it. 

But Spock didn’t wait for Leonard to respond, because he apparently had an idea already. 

“Computer, show holovid 113 from my personal archive.”

The screen opened up in front of them on the couch. Leonard recognized the shuttle bay at the Academy, back in San Francisco. 

“What is this.”

“It’s footage from a passenger shuttle of the take off from Earth to the Enterprise at its docking station.”

Leonard’s first thought was  _ oh fuck me _ . He had already ridden in one of those god forsaken passenger shuttles more than enough times, knew too well the way they shake and rattle as if they’re just seconds away from dropping out of the stratosphere. He really had no desire to relive one of those flights. 

“I anticipated that you would not enjoy this video,” Spock cut in, not even trying to be subtle about the fact that he knew exactly what was going on in Leonard’s head. “I, however, will. While we experience different reactions to the footage you can attempt to compartmentalize my feelings from your own, and then, if you would like, it is possible to completely close off the reception of my feelings into your mind.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that second part.”

“You can try. I believe it will take practice, regardless.” Spock turned to face the screen again. “Computer, play video.”

The video started and Leonard watched as the view from the ship left the shuttle bay, and then passed the skyline of San Francisco. He felt his stomach starting to twist itself into a knot as the city got smaller and smaller, the Earth got farther and farther away. Yep. He hated this. 

But then he remembered that this was supposed to be an exercise in emotional shielding, and not just a game where Spock made him uncomfortable for fun, and he tried to focus on what else he could feel outside of his own nauseous reaction. The contrast couldn’t have been any stronger. 

Wonder. That was the main thing coming off of Spock in waves. Wonder and appreciation and something like love, at seeing the Earth from far away, blue and green and white against the darkness of space. Spock’s own feelings were so strong that Leonard almost started to think, too, that it might be beautiful to see Earth from space. Except, he realized, that this was exactly the reason his psionic sense always caused him trouble: he kept letting other people’s feelings interfere with his own. 

Leonard tried his best to separate them, to draw a line in the space between them on the couch, to build a wall, in a manner of speaking, between their minds, as if there was some plane of existence where thoughts and feelings operated. He built a wall exactly there.

And then he watched the screen as the video continued to play on a loop, and felt sick. And  _ only _ sick. 

“That really was impressive, Doctor.”

“Leonard.”

“ _ Leonard _ ,” Spock corrected, “You succeeded on the first try. More or less.”

“Well can we move on to the second try before I throw up on you,” Leonard asked, turning his face away from the screen to look at Spock instead, and in the effort of trying to communicate just with his facial expression that he had seen enough of this damn holovid, his shields fell back down and Spock definitely felt all of it at once, and flinched just slightly. 

And then something else bloomed around them, taking up space in Leonard’s head now that his shitty, makeshift wall was gone. The feeling didn’t come from Leonard’s own head but he reacted all the same, and started laughing. 

“What are you--what the fuck,” Leonard said in between laughs. He looked at Spock’s face and he seemed unfazed. He only had that typical display of  _ Vulcan amusement _ , the quirk of his eyebrow and the ever-so-slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Leonard realized, and it was almost terrifying, that this intensity of feeling that was causing him to laugh, was what  _ Spock _ felt right now, and probably what he felt every time he made that stupid face with the stupid smirk and stupid eyebrow. Spock--in his own way--was  _ laughing. _ Like actually. 

“Oh my god.”

-

That was how it went, for a while. Leonard showed up to Spock’s quarters as often as he could handle being  _ that _ aware of his own brain, which turned out to be about once a week. Until Leonard memorized the walk to Spock’s quarters, the smell and the temperature and the layout inside, until Spock gave him the door code and he stopped ringing the buzzer to be let in. At that point it had become such a routine for the two of them that it started bleeding out into the rest of their lives. They began taking their meals together beforehand, and then just whenever it was convenient. Leonard didn’t even notice how weird it was that they just  _ hung out _ now until Jim brought it up. 

“I’m so glad you two have been getting along lately,” Jim said over dinner one evening. Not an evening that Leonard was planning on going to Spock’s quarters for another training session, just one where the three of them ended up eating together. “My two favorite people in the universe. Finally friends.”

“ _ Friends  _ is pretty optimistic Jim,” Leonard replied, and he could feel Spock’s amusement better than he saw it in the quirk of his eyebrow. 

“How would you describe our relationship, Leonard?”

“Mutual tolerance,” he offered.

Jim just glanced back and forth between the two of them, looking very much like he was missing a joke or something. And he sort of was, considering he didn’t know about Leonard and Spock’s new setup. When neither of them bothered to elaborate, instead moving their attention back to eating, Jim gave up. 

“Alright, so, my two favorite people in the universe: mutually tolerating each other.”

“Precisely,” Spock said, before taking a sip of his tea. 

Leonard looked at him from across the table, and when they locked eyes it only took a second before Spock’s shields went down and his feelings were reaching out towards Leonard, that same lighthearted, laughter-level of happiness that he had felt from him during his very first lesson. It took a lot of self control not to smile, or let the sensation make  _ him _ laugh out loud. Instead he focused very hard, and tried to send one, single thought. 

_ Put your shields back up before I in-tolerate you. _

_ Very good,  _ Spock thought back at him, before bringing his shields back up and leaving Leonard to his own thoughts again. In the second before his feelings were completely out of reach, though, Leonard sensed another surge of amusement, maybe even playfulness. 

They both looked back at Jim like they had forgotten, for a moment, that he was there. He was, and he looked like he had been waiting just to say, 

“Okay, now I really feel like I’m missing something.”

-

Leonard turned out to be better at picking this stuff up than he had expected. Either that, or Spock was a pretty good teacher (but he wasn’t about to admit that). Some weeks he even felt himself looking forward to going to Spock’s quarters, in some weird way. Maybe all he really needed was a hobby. 

That’s kind of what they were doing. In the same way that Jim and Spock played chess together some nights, some nights Leonard went to Spock’s quarters and learned how to read minds. Or how to  _ stop _ reading minds, in the case of tonight’s lesson. Leonard had explained the week before, in what had turned into something resembling a therapy session, that he wished he could just turn it off sometimes, the way Spock had turned his psionic senses off for him that one night at the bar. Not permanently, because they were starting to come in handy, he just wished he wasn’t forced to read every emotion of every person he encountered. 

And then Spock had told him--and for some reason he’d decided to wait  _ weeks _ to tell him--that something like this was actually, indeed, possible for Leonard to do. 

“It’s not possible to entirely disconnect yourself from your psionic sense, but you should be able to elect not to use it, in order to preserve your energy. That is, if your mind is similar enough to mine, you should be able to do this.”

_ I sure hope my mind isn’t anything like yours _ , Leonard thought, before he realized that--

“If you insult me, I won’t teach you how to do it.”

But Spock wasn’t actually mad. They’d been doing this long enough that Leonard would have known Spock wasn’t mad without being able to sense that in reality Spock thought what he’d said (thought, technically) was funny. And he thought it was even funnier, apparently, that Leonard kept forgetting his thoughts weren’t private between them, when they were sitting on Spock’s couch like this, both of their shields down. 

Leonard held his hands up in surrender, anyway. 

“Okay, alright. Teach me how to do it.”

Spock regarded him, carefully, for another moment. Leonard sighed. 

“Please,” he added, and the corner of Spock’s mouth ticked up just slightly. 

“Very well.”

It turned out to be pretty simple, even though it took Spock about three tries to explain exactly how to regulate his mental impulses to read people’s emotions before Leonard finally figured it out. His imagination came in handy, just like it had when he’d first tried to perform emotional shielding. He imagined reeling the sense in like a fishing line, coiling it around itself and placing it somewhere safe, where he could pull it out again when he needed it. It actually worked, kind of. And Spock apparently thought that was funny, too. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

Spock wasn’t laughing. Out loud, at least. But Leonard didn’t even need to take his psionic senses back out to know that he thought it was funny. 

“You continue to surprise me with the methods you use to accomplish mental tasks which I have already given clear directions for.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, that’s all I’m gonna say.”

Leonard refused to believe that this was the first time Spock had heard that particular idiom, but Spock apparently needed to take a minute to process that, regardless. The two of them just stared at each other from opposite sides of the couch. To an outsider they probably looked like they had absolutely nothing in common. And it probably looked like it was Leonard’s couch, the way he was slouched against the cushions, one leg crossed loosely over the other, compared to Spock sitting neatly a few feet away, hands clasped together in his lap, posture so good it almost looked painful. Spock had surprised him tonight when Leonard finally accepted his offer of something to drink. He opened up a cabinet that primarily stored boxes of tea leaves and pulled out a bottle of wine which turned out to be extremely sweet and alarmingly strong. Spock had maybe taken one sip from his own glass. Meanwhile, Leonard was almost through with his, and he felt heavy and floating all at once, pleasantly warm even though he usually found himself sweating in the desert-like temperature of Spock’s quarters. 

“If you feel confident in your ability to restrict your psionic sense already, we can add the element of physical contact. Keeping your mind free of the feelings of others will prove more challenging when physical touch is involved.”

Leonard nodded slowly. At least tonight he could blame his mixed feelings, about hearing Spock say the word _ touch _ again and again, on this ridiculous wine they were drinking. 

Apparently both of them needed to psych themselves up for what was coming next, because while Leonard was sitting up out of his very tipsy-looking slouch, Spock was leaning over the coffee table to take another sip of his wine. 

And then Spock closed the distance between them on the couch by about half. He rolled up the sleeve of his uniform shirt just a little more than necessary. 

“Place your hand on my wrist and try to maintain control over your psionic sense. Keep in mind you may not succeed at first. After we’ve made skin to skin contact, your instincts will want to read my surface thoughts and emotions.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that my ego is so fragile I need constant reassurance,” Leonard griped, and set his wine glass down on the coffee table. 

“You are a perfectionist, Leonard.”

“If  _ I’m _ a perfectionist, what does that make you.”

Spock looked deep in thought when Leonard finally reached his hand forward and grabbed him by the wrist. He was right, his instincts immediately broke through the hold he’d placed on his psionic sense and picked up on Spock’s mind right away. There wasn’t even time for him to try and stop it. 

All he really picked up on, though, was Spock trying to figure out if there was a word stronger than  _ perfectionist _ . Leonard let out a bark of laughter. 

“Maybe there’s not a noun which is stronger, but I could think of some adjectives.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Enlighten me.”

“Impossible,” Leonard said first, and then, “insufferable, maybe. Absurd. Let me know if you want me to keep going.”

And on the outside, Spock was still staring at him doubtfully, but Leonard could feel, very clearly, through their physical link, that he was amused. It was easier to rein in his senses when he was met with such a strong sensation, and he slowly started pulling it back, like a fishing line, like he had before. And he almost managed. 

Almost, because, right before he’d started to sever the link between them, he felt something else underneath Spock’s amusement. Something stronger than that sense of companionship he’d felt off of him before. That companionship, the friendly feeling Spock apparently had, even when they were bickering, had been a shock when Leonard first discovered it. But this was something different. Something stronger, maybe. 

And something Leonard was afraid to put a name to, but it wasn’t far from what Leonard would have called  _ attraction _ . It wasn’t that far, either, from what Leonard would have called  _ arousal _ . 

He pulled his hand away a little too fast, before he had even finished closing the psionic link between them, which Spock had noticed, no doubt. Spock just blinked at him, like he didn’t understand what had just happened that caused Leonard to jerk his hand back like that. 

Except Spock was smart, and he must have realized what had happened. Leonard could see it in his face, in the way he hastily rolled his sleeve back down and put more space between them on the couch again. Whatever that was, he probably hadn’t meant for Leonard to feel it. He needed another second, apparently, to compose himself, before he said, voice a little more quiet than normal, 

“We can finish, now, if you like.”

And Leonard just nodded. He tried his best, on his way out, not to seem like he was running away.

-

It wasn’t like he all of a sudden considered himself as some sort of walking miracle, like god’s gift to Humankind--or Betazoid-kind, or whatever the hell else--but he definitely had made the mistake of feeling comfortable, and god forbid, maybe even a little bit confident in his abilities. 

Confident enough that, at the news they would be taking on some Betazoid passengers for a short passage from one starbase to another, he felt a little bit excited at the idea of meeting them. There weren’t any other Betazoid crew members or passengers on the ship, just Leonard (and Leonard didn’t know if he counted, really), and the only other person he’d been actively practicing his psionic sense with was Spock. Not that he was just sitting around in sickbay thinking they were all going to be  _ best friends _ or anything, as soon as he met them, because that would be dumb. 

But he did feel a small, reasonable, healthy level of excitement, even though he tried to keep it under wraps and stayed on his shift at sickbay instead of joining the welcoming party in the transporter room. He could wait until after his shift ended, after they were settled into their quarters, to go see if they might run into each other. 

As it turned out, Jim had insisted on taking them around for a full tour, which ended up with all three of their Betazoid guests being marched right into sickbay to meet him. 

“And this is our highly capable CMO, Leonard McCoy. You can call him Bones.”

“You can call me Doctor McCoy,” Leonard deadpanned, and watched as Jim’s cheeky smile just widened. He tried not to look as awkward as he felt around the group of them, dressed in their bright flowing robes and tunics, their big, dark eyes scanning the room in the same way he could feel their minds scanning the room. He kept his own mind shielded, as best as he could, because he wasn’t quite sure how he would want to reveal himself to these people, but he knew he didn’t really want it to happen in front of Jim. After all, it would probably make Jim look like something of a bad Captain if he didn’t even know something so important about his own Chief Medical Officer. 

The woman who looked like the leader of the group, for lack of a better term, stepped forward, watching Leonard closely, and the intent in her eyes creeped him out more than that same expression coming from Spock ever did. Which was saying something. He tried to focus on something else, on the crystal pins in her hair, the almost blinding yellow fabric draped over her shoulders. And then he felt himself slipping just a bit. He saw her mouth curl into a smile which came off as more than a little threatening in combination with the way she was staring him down. 

_ And here your Captain Kirk was telling us we would be the only Betazoids on board _ , her voice cut in, straight through his shields as if they weren’t even up at all. 

Leonard couldn’t think of what to say, he was so occupied with scrambling to keep his shields up when it felt like she was--if that was even possible--effortlessly tearing them down herself. Luckily, or maybe  _ unluckily _ , Jim had left her and Leonard to their little staring contest in favor of showing their other two guests around the medical bay. Which meant he was pretty much alone. 

_ You’re not entirely Betazoid though, are you, Doctor McCoy? A pure Betazoid at your age would have mastered simple emotional shielding, I think.  _

Now Leonard didn’t like that. The way the word  _ pure _ sounded when she’d said it in his head. He didn’t like that at all. 

_ I’m half _ , was all he could come up with to project back at her, and she snickered. Out loud. Probably at his shitty projecting skills compared to hers. 

_ How positively charming. _

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say thank you to that. 

_ You can say thank you. If you want that to be a compliment. And I think you do, don’t you. Are you a little bit insecure about being half Betazoid, Doctor? _

Leonard wanted to curse out loud at the fact that he’d even assumed for a moment that he had any privacy in his own thoughts, with her. For all he knew the other two Betazoids in sickbay were listening to this whole thing, as they humored Jim by letting him explain their medical equipment. They could be laughing to themselves, communicating to each other in ways Leonard wasn’t skilled enough to be a part of, half Betazoid or not. 

_ Now, don’t be dramatic. Our conversation is entirely yours and mine. Your Captain doesn’t even know what you are, does he? He would have tried to brag about it if he did.  _

He could have thought back in confirmation, told her  _ no he doesn’t know _ , but at this point she was reading his own thoughts before they were even complete in his own mind. His brain was an open book to her. She flipped through it effortlessly for his reaction to her every word, finding all the information she wanted and more, all while they stood there looking at each other. To an outsider it probably seemed like there was nothing going on between the two of them except for maybe a prolonged awkward moment. 

_ You shouldn’t be afraid to tell him. I’m sure  _ he _ would think it’s impressive. But I wonder what the other humans in your life would think? _

Leonard just wished he could stop reacting every time she said something in his head, that his brain would stop offering up all this memory and feeling and thinking for her to pounce on. But he couldn’t stop it. Maybe it was his Human side. Or maybe he was just  _ that _ bad at using his own mind. 

She smiled wickedly. 

_ You have a daughter? _

Oh _ god.  _ Leonard hadn’t even thought about Joanna, not consciously. He hadn’t thought about what all of this--what his being half Betazoid--meant for her. He hadn’t thought about the fact that she was probably going to go through all the same shit he did. Maybe she already was. Leonard felt his heart drop down to his stomach and it looked like this woman was only that much more entertained by the feeling. 

_ Oh, you should tell her. The sooner the better. She would only be a quarter Betazoid but with enough practice her mind could be quite good by the time she’s your age. Of course it would be nothing compared to pure Betazoid genes. Of course.  _

Before anyone could say--or project--anything else, Jim’s voice echoed through the room. And Leonard was grateful for it, because he was probably one second away from absolutely losing it and doing something regrettable to this  _ guest _ of theirs. 

“Spock! You made it!”

Jim was grinning from one of the biobeds, where he had been explaining their dermal and ossio-regen units to two very bored looking Betazoids. He gestured for Spock to come join them, but Spock looked frozen in the doorway, gaze moving back and forth to the group at the biobed and to Leonard and the Betazoid woman who was still watching him like she was waiting, expectantly, for him to have an emotional breakdown. Leonard didn’t know what kind of desperate look he must have been giving Spock, but even without it, it seemed like Spock knew exactly what was going on in a manner of seconds. 

“Captain,” Spock finally said in greeting, nodding once, and then turned his attention to the woman with Leonard, who was apparently named “Ambassador Xaldana. It is an honor to have you and your family aboard the Enterprise.”

Leonard wanted to let out a sigh of relief as he watched her--Xaldana, if she even deserved to be called by name--effectively redirect her attention to Spock. She seemed to thrive on the praise, and closed in on Spock. 

“It’s a charming ship you have here--and what may I call you?”

_ Charming _ was clearly meant as an insult coming from Ambassador Xaldana. It had to be, with that tone of voice. Spock folded his hands behind his back as she all but cornered him against the doors. 

“I am Commander Spock. First Officer of the Enterprise.”

And then everyone was gravitating towards Spock as he bullshitted his way through more pleasantries, everyone but Leonard, who couldn’t even move his feet to storm off into his office. Because he was pissed off, and humiliated, and still a little bit in shock, and his daughter was one quarter Betazoid and he’d never even _ thought _ about that, and it didn’t even matter that Spock had just saved him from that conversation without being asked, because he was pissed at Spock, too. He wasn’t able to relax until the five of them had finally left sickbay, following Jim’s lead to tour Engineering next. And then just seconds later one some science officer showed up with a case of carpal tunnel and he  _ still _ didn’t get the satisfaction of being able to storm off into his office. 

-

Leonard ended up in Spock’s quarters afterwards, because this all happened on the same day as their weekly training sessions. So he guessed he might have showed up just on instinct, then, since he really had no desire to be there at all. All he could feel was anger at himself, and embarrassment, and anger at Spock for building him up so much that he even had the opportunity to embarrass himself. And even though Spock could have felt and interpreted all of that for him, when he came in, he kept his shields up and talked instead, because that was what normal people were supposed to do. 

He made it maybe one minute in Spock’s quarters, not even straying far from the doorway, while Spock stood awkwardly in the center of the room, and couldn’t even bear to listen to Spock trying to rationalize all that shit with the Betazoids before he just let it all out, before Spock even finished asking the question of  _ are you alright, Leonard _ . 

“I don’t know why I let you convince me that I’m anything more than a genetic fuck up.”

“Leonard. That is not what you are.”

“But it is though, isn’t it? No matter how much I come here to play little mind reading games with you I’m never going to be as good at it as someone who’s actually a Betazoid, am I. And I’m never going to have the peace of mind that Humans get to have, either. There ain’t anything good about being in between. And I think you know that, Spock. You’ve known it longer than I have.”

“You are not  _ in between _ . You are fully yourself. As am I.”

Leonard scoffed, pointedly looking away from Spock even though it did nothing to help him escape from Spock’s damn  _ earnestness _ . Yet another thing he never would have thought Spock could express, before all of this had started. Spock stepped closer to him, closer than he needed to be, and Leonard knew why, knew what was coming, could feel him reaching out emotionally before he did physically, before his palm, incredibly warm through Leonard’s uniform, came to his shoulder, urged Leonard to look at him. 

“Don’t you understand,” Spock said, his fingertips ghosting over Leonard’s neck, his jaw. As soon as they moved from the collar of Leonard’s uniform shirt onto his bare skin they brought emotions with them like an electric shock, sincerity, admiration, fascination--it was almost too much to bear on its own, let alone coupled with Spock’s clear, soft voice. “That you are an extraordinary creature?”

Leonard felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It was too much. Way, way too much. 

“Stop that,” he muttered, pushing Spock’s hand away, “it makes it worse when you touch me.”

“Why are you afraid to discover my feelings for you?”

“God.” Leonard dragged a hand down his face, stopping to cover his mouth before finally moving it away. “Do you have to say shit like that?”

“It’s something you could have already felt, if you were paying attention. And I know that you were.”

“I’m not afraid, okay, Spock, I’m just,” Leonard scrambled for a word which was far enough away from being a synonym of afraid even though that may as well have been how he felt, “I’m confused, I guess.”

Spock studied him. They were still standing so close to each other, close enough that it would have been incredibly easy for Spock to touch him again, even on accident, but he didn’t. His hands were at his sides. Leonard was completely fed up with himself for the fact that he simultaneously wanted Spock to touch him again and knew that he would push his hand away as soon as he did. 

“Your self hatred is so strong that you seem to think it’s impossible for others to find you attractive,” Spock said neatly, and Leonard almost wanted to clock him just for that. 

“Is this therapeutic for you or something? The fact that we both hate ourselves for the same reasons? Because I sincerely doubt that has nothing to do with it.”

That seemed to be enough to make Spock pause. He clasped his hands together in front, just almost almost brushing against Leonard’s thighs, and looked down at them for a moment. 

“I suppose it could be either scenario. Or a combination of multiple factors, including our parallel experiences.” He flicked his eyes up to meet Leonard’s.

“Jesus christ. Is this how y’all flirt with each other.” Leonard was the first to finally walk away from the tension of their almost-embrace. He fell back against the cushions of Spock’s couch, wishing they were in his own quarters so he could drink something stronger than wine. And there it was again, Leonard wishing _ they  _ were somewhere. Like his mind put the two of them together by default whenever he fantasized about something. The realization floored him more than it should have. Maybe Spock was right. Maybe he was afraid. 

“In fact, no. Vulcan courtship is--” Spock stopped talking as soon as Leonard looked up at him and projected with as much strength as possible the emotion behind the phrase  _ shut the fuck up _ . He figured it was enough that he didn’t need to project the words, too. 

“That was impressive.”

“Thanks.”

Leonard glanced around the room, glared really, for a few seconds, taking it in, this place that he never thought he’d become so familiar with, so comfortable in. He looked over his shoulder and saw Spock, didn’t need to use any sort of psionic sense to know that he was standing there, hands still clasped together, staring at Leonard, and completely unsure of what to do. 

“I’m going,” he finally said, and got up from the couch as abruptly as he’d sat down on it. He needed to get out of here. He needed to stop coming here. He needed to stop treating Spock’s quarters--Spock’s company--as something so available to him, so normal to him. He had trained long enough, he knew how to protect himself during work, how to help his patients feel better, he didn’t need to be doing this anymore. 

“You can stay, we could do something else tonight, instead.”

“ _ Something else _ \--like what, Spock? Watch movies, play checkers, and talk about boys? I’m going.”

He pretended he couldn’t see, and couldn’t feel, and hadn’t predicted how hurt Spock was going to be by that. By the suggestion that the two of them had nothing in common, had no reason to enjoy each other’s company when they clearly had been for months now. By his insistence to leave. He had to leave. And maybe he didn’t want to, somewhere in his heart. Maybe when he saw the way Spock’s face fell just a little bit at his dismissive tone of voice, he wanted to close that distance between them again, let Spock’s hand come to rest against his bare skin again, feel all those things between them that he kept trying to ignore, see the warmth in Spock’s expression when he didn’t shrink away from his touch. But that’s not what he did. 

“Good night, Spock,” he said flatly, and stepped out into the corridor and let the doors whoosh behind him just as he heard Spock’s confused, half-whispered  _ goodnight, Doctor _ . 

And then he stormed all the way to his quarters and drank enough whiskey to fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

They had pretty much reached the point, anyway, where Leonard didn’t need any more direction from Spock. He could always use more practice, but that was something he could manage on his own. He could practice shielding and reading and projecting and all that shit during work, while he treated patients in sickbay or stood on the bridge feeling bored. 

He really wasn’t spending much time on the bridge, though. Not if he could help it, because Spock kept giving Leonard awkward and sometimes lingering glances, to the point where he wasn’t sure if Spock even  _ knew _ he was doing it. Jim was apparently past the point of trying to understand what was making his CMO moody this time. He said nothing about the sudden decline of Leonard’s appearances on the bridge, but he did endeavor to make up for lost time, and started tracking him down after their shifts to hang out, usually in the form of eating dinner together. Leonard didn’t mind it. If anything he was grateful for the distraction when his dinners--and dinners that turned to drinks that turned to watching dumb holovids in Jim’s quarters--started to overlap with the nights he  _ would  _ have spent in Spock’s quarters.

It wasn’t like they were avoiding each other outright, it was more like they’d just stopped gravitating towards each other like they did before. They almost went back to the same dynamic they’d had before any of it had happened, before they took on those Vulcan passengers and Leonard had stormed down to Spock’s quarters for the first time. The entire progression of their relationship after that point, all that they had gained, was effectively cut off, just like that, and they were more or less back at square one, only talking when it was necessary. 

Leonard tried not to be upset about it. He tried even harder not to think about the fact that it was all his fault, too, for running, for his enduring habit of self-sabotage, for pushing away the one person who really knew him, and really cared about him, because, what, he thought Spock’s attraction was  _ misguided _ ? The reality was that Spock’s feelings for him were probably the least misguided out of everyone on the ship, because he was the only one who knew the truth about Leonard. 

And Leonard had still pushed him away.

Although they weren’t back at square one, of course, not exactly, because Leonard still had all of the skills Spock had taught him, all of the results of his training that made him a better Doctor, a better crewmember, a better friend who didn’t get cranky and exhausted all the time and didn’t feel the need to escape from a room full of people. Really, he owed Spock a thank you as well as an apology. 

He would tell him both, if and when the two of them ever attempted to have a real conversation again. Until then he just focused on being good at his job. 

-

“Doctor McCoy!”

Her tone of voice, and just the fact that Chapel had yelled his name instead of walking over to his office to get him, was enough of an indication that there was an emergency. Leonard didn’t have to put out feelers around sickbay in order to know something was up. He ran out of his office and right towards the commotion around one of the biobeds, a flurry of nurses swarming around, and the remains of that day’s away team, which Leonard had seen off to the transporter room himself, standing back and watching. Jim was among them, covered in dirt, shirt torn six ways to Sunday. He caught eyes with Leonard and met him halfway across the room, immediately talking a hundred miles a minute. 

Leonard just let him run his mouth while he approached the biobed, and Nurse Chapel handed him a PADD with almost no useful information on it whatsoever. Stats and vitals, sure, but nothing that would explain the state of Ensign Ramsey on the biobed, looking like she might be paralyzed and having a seizure at the same time, barely being held down by three of his medical staff as they tried to sedate her. 

“We’re trying to sedate her but nothing seems to be working, and we can’t risk an overdose,” Chapel explained, in a voice that would sound calm to anyone who didn’t know her. In her own way, she was panicking. Meanwhile, Jim was very clearly and very obviously panicking in Leonard’s other ear. 

“I have no idea what happened--I was--we had split up and then things got ugly and then we found her again and she just--she looked like this and we can’t figure out--”

“We can’t figure out where the source of her pain is, just that it’s overwhelming her too much for her to tell us.”

“Did you find any sort of entry point? Like she might’ve got hit with something?” Leonard asked, eyes going back and forth from watching her heart rate spike and fall dangerously fast and watching her writhe in pain on the biobed. He didn’t know which was harder to look at. 

“No, nothing.”

“The planet--” Jim cut in, and something must have happened to him too, with all the rips in his shirt and the adrenaline driving him wild, “--they used to have this issue with airborne parasites. But the file said it had been obliterated--I told everyone we were safe.” 

Leonard didn’t need to read Jim to feel his guilt at the end of that sentence. He didn’t need to be reading anyone. All at once he realized how useful it was to be able to shield himself in a time like this, because it barely took him a second to filter through his own thoughts before he knew what to do next. Even just two or three months ago, when he was first practicing with Spock, just the proximity of Ramsey’s agony in the same room would have made it hard to think quickly, or to think at all. No wonder he used to get so exhausted after shifts like this. 

“Do we know anything about those parasites?”

“I can pull up the files right now,” Chapel said. 

“Good, and get all these nurses away from Ramsey, we only need two. Put the rest of the away team on biobeds.” Leonard looked over his shoulder, “That means you, Jim.”

He scanned through everything they had in their medical database about airborne parasites on Kathars I. It wasn’t much. They were largely unknown and untraceable, even after the few years when one specific strain had taken out a third of the planet’s population. But it wasn’t too late, as long as they managed to administer the antidote at the parasite’s entry point. 

“How long ago did she start showing symptoms?” Leonard yelled, without bothering to look up, because he knew someone (probably Jim) was still hovering close enough to answer.

“Maybe four hours ago. She started to get really tired,” Jim said.

“Great,” Leonard gritted out. 

“How much time does that leave us?” Chapel asked. 

“Not a lot.”

He passed the PADD back to Chapel and walked right up to the biobed, slipping a pair of gloves over his hands before he touched her. Everyone stared at him, like they had no idea what he could be about to do, and he waved them off. 

“Away team. Biobeds. Now.”

Leonard ran a tricorder over her, trying to pick up on where the pain was the strongest. That was most likely going to be where the parasite had forced its way in. He got nothing. Nurse Chapel, thankfully, was the only person who hadn’t run away. She was right at his side, reading off whatever additional info she had found on similar cases. 

“Most common entry point is the side of the neck or the ear,” she said, and Leonard scanned over those areas again and again. Nothing came up, even as she shook, eyes wide, gasping for air, contorting in a type of pain that Leonard sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to witness again for at least a year. 

“I can’t find it.”

“It’s gotta show up on the tricorder, it says here the pain is easily ten times worse at the entry point, that’s why people are able to find it and treat it.”

“Well I’m telling you, there’s nothing there,” Leonard snapped, “By all accounts this tricorder thinks she’s perfectly healthy and look at her!”

“There has to be  _ something _ that will pick up on it,” Chapel said, and hurried off, probably to search through their equipment for whatever did  _ exactly _ what a tricorder did but wasn’t a tricorder. Whatever it was, Leonard didn’t have it. And he knew every tool and every piece of medical equipment at his disposal. None of them were going to be able to find this entry point if the damn  _ tricorder  _ couldn’t find it. 

Nothing except--

_ oh fuck.  _

Leonard knew what he had to do. It was the only thing to do. The only thing that would immediately pin down her strongest point of pain so they could treat it, so they could save her. With how quickly he made up his mind and ripped off his glove, he didn’t even think to try and psych himself up for it, maybe think back to some of Spock’s advice on  _ the pain of others being a mental sensation, and not a physical one  _ or whatever he’d said the last time they practiced. 

No, he stripped his hands bare and knocked his shields down and made contact with the closest patch of skin he could find, pressing the palm of his hand against Ramsey’s forehead. 

Even hours after it happened, he wouldn’t be able to explain how he’d managed to stay standing after he’d touched her skin, how he didn’t end up on the floor himself, shaking and thrashing with the sensation that immediately coursed through him. He had no idea how he did it, how he stood there completely still with his hand to Ramsey’s forehead and scanned the pain levels of her entire body until he found the strongest point. The best answer was just that he did it because he had to. Because nobody else could have. 

As soon as he’d found it he shot his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove on accident. 

“It’s her back,” he rasped, feeling winded. “Upper left back, above the shoulder blade. Underneath her uniform is an open cut. That’s the entry point.”

Chapel was standing on the other side of the biobed, holding a dermal regen unit which wasn’t a bad idea in theory but would’ve done fuck all in the end. She nodded quickly, eyes wide. 

She must have witnessed the whole thing. 

But she didn’t say a word about it. The two of them worked to turn Ramsey on her side, cut open the back of her uniform shirts and administer the antidote before things got any worse, followed by a minor sedative. And then they held her down as her shaking subsided, slowly, and she collapsed against the surface of the bed. 

“You can handle it from here, Nurse. She’s gonna need muscle relaxers and a lot of water while the last of the virus filters out.”

Leonard nodded at her, and that expression of shock, and something like worry, was still trained on him. He knew it wasn’t about Ensign Ramsey. And the looks he got from the rest of the staff as he walked by, from Jim sitting up in his biobed, those weren’t about Ensign Ramsey either. They had all seen it happen. 

If he stormed off to his office now, it would have seemed like he was trying to hide. So he went around to check up on all of the other members of the away team, to make sure nobody was exhibiting symptoms, to try to figure out how out of the lot of them it was just Jim who ended up with his shirt ripped. 

Only then did he remember that Spock had been on that away team too. That Spock had just watched that happen, too. 

-

Spock had been looking at him with the same kind of shock that was on everyone else’s face, except he  _ knew  _ what had just happened, he’d all but  _ taught  _ Leonard how to do that, so it didn’t make any sense for him to stare the way he did. Leonard wasn’t really interested in finding out what was going on in Spock’s head. Or in anyone’s head, for that matter, so he just put his shields back up and put on a blank face and went through the remainder of his shift without devoting another thought to it. 

He finally got back to his quarters, feeling the heavy, dizzy kind of tired he used to feel all the time, back when he couldn’t do anything to keep the thoughts and feelings of his patients out of his head. He was ready to collapse into bed and sleep it off, maybe take a nice hot water-shower first, except he turned the corner to his quarters and Spock was waiting for him. 

He looked no worse for wear, but he wasn’t one of the members of the away team that had gotten into trouble. Because of course he wasn’t. Leonard didn’t want to know how long he’d been waiting there for him, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. They locked eyes, and Leonard suppressed the urge to groan, because he really had no choice but to key in the code to his quarters and gesture Spock to come in. 

That didn’t mean he was going to make the rest of it easy, though. He followed Spock inside and stopped just a few feet from the doorway, skipping the small talk altogether. 

“Why are you here, Spock? I figured after today it’s pretty clear that we don’t need to do any more psychic lessons.”

“I agree. I came here to...” Spock trailed off. Leonard couldn’t remember the last time he witnessed Spock trailing off. He quickly caught himself, straightening his posture just a little more. “I apologize, I find this is difficult for me to put into words.”

“If you want, I can try and read it out of your mind,” Leonard said, hoping that he’d layered his words with enough sarcasm that Spock wouldn’t seriously consider the offer. And maybe he had been projecting his intention too, on accident, because the corner of Spock’s mouth ticked up a little bit. 

“No, that is not necessary. I should be able to express myself.”

Spock went ahead and sat down on the couch in Leonard’s quarters without waiting for an invitation to. Leonard wondered which emotional milestone it had been between the two of them that made Spock stop waiting for things like that and instead just  _ do _ them. 

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Leonard mumbled, and followed him to the couch. He sat down heavily into the cushions, careful not to get too close, careful not to look like he cared too much about what Spock was trying to say. 

“It’s just that I believe that we have had similar emotional difficulties with the concept of identity. And in my experience I received very little reassurance or encouragement, even from those who are closest to me. This is likely because I did not ask for it, but I always needed it.”

There were a lot of things Leonard figured he could have said during the next break Spock took to collect his thoughts. Most of them were snarky or in bad taste or would have dismissed the direction that he knew Spock was headed towards and no doubt could drive a wedge between the two of them again. The more he considered it, the more he realized he didn’t actually want that to happen, as much as pushing Spock away seemed to make him feel safe in the moment. It sure did fuck-all in the long run except put distance between him and the only other person who knew what he was going through. 

So Leonard just sat there, quietly, while Spock thought for a minute. 

“That is to say--” Spock paused. His eyebrows drew together just slightly, breaking his controlled demeanor in a way which made Leonard’s chest feel a little bit warm. “I want you to know, Leonard, that I am proud of you. For your progress in mastering your psionic abilities, but especially for what you did today. You perform highly above the level expected for any Starfleet medical officer, especially considering the physical and emotional toll of your work. Anyone in your position, or with your genetic makeup, likely would not have done what you did today.”

“You’re proud of me?” Leonard repeated. It was really only a fraction of the sentiment Spock had just offered, while the words came out of his mouth a bit faster than usual, and Spock must have been stressed about saying them wrong, because Leonard found it right away when he felt for it; the stress, curling around the edges of his mind, and underneath, a little more tightly held, the pride Spock had expressed, respect, awe, and underneath it all, affection. 

Spock nodded once. He looked a little winded. Leonard could guess that such a display of emotion, the kind of display which he no doubt had needed himself all his life, had taken a lot out of him. As much as he wanted to delve into that, into the possibility that Spock’s motivation behind all of this was to right some sort of wrong that had been done to him as a child, to say the words he had been denied, it really didn’t seem like the time. Instead all he could say was, 

“Thank you, Spock.”

“You’re welcome, Leonard.” Spock’s posture relaxed, just slightly. “I only hope that you can see, with time, that your psionic abilities are a gift, rather than a curse.”

“Sure feels like a curse, sometimes.”

“I know.”

Leonard breathed out a laugh, wondering how the hell they got here, to this place where Spock spoke so casually, so differently, sometimes, than he did with everyone else. Wondering why he seemed to like it so much. 

“I know you know.”

Spock smiled, in that little way that he did, and flicked his eyes down to some spot between the coffee table and the floor.

“Remember what you said to me? About how we’re not in between, we’re just ourselves.”

“Yes.”

“I had never thought of it like that before.”

Spock thought for a moment, roving his eyes around the room a bit, before settling his gaze back on Leonard. He shrugged just slightly. 

“I am not surprised.”

“Oh really. Why’s that.”

“In order for you to come to this conclusion on your own you would have needed to perform conscious, rational thought.”

Leonard let out an exhale that was half-sigh and half poorly concealed laughter. He dragged a hand down his face before giving Spock a flat look from over his fingers, seeing the little glint in his dark eyes and feeling his shields go down to reveal all of that playfulness he seemed to feel every time he made fun of Leonard. And Leonard didn’t bother keeping his own shields up when he wondered if it would be weird to lean forward, close the distance between them on the couch, and kiss him, and experience all that bright emotion even more as soon as their lips met. 

Spock heard that. Leonard knew he would be listening, anyway. 

“If you miss your opportunity now, I will have to insult you again in order to get the feeling back,” Spock said, and that was his answer, apparently, to the question Leonard accidentally-on-purpose just asked, and Leonard moved across the couch, one knee on the cushions and the other foot planted on the floor, and he placed his hand across Spock’s body to grip the armrest, and his other hand on that patch of skin above the neckline of his uniform, and then Leonard brought their faces together, and he kissed him. 

And it was  _ electric _ . 

He shouldn’t have even been surprised by the fact that kissing Spock was different than kissing anyone else. Hell, it wasn’t even  _ comparable _ to kissing anyone else. He’d felt it already, in the few times when Spock had touched him since he’d admitted to keeping his emotions shielded before, those touches that suddenly came with so much feeling attached. Now Spock wasn’t holding anything back. Neither of them were. Everything bloomed, burst, like fireworks, bright white and warm gold and steel blue between them and Leonard felt like his brain was completely overwhelmed and still, at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for more, from giving more, from pressing Spock against the couch cushions while he continued the slow, easy slide of their mouths against each other. 

Every new touch of their skin, their lips, every time they separated and came back together, it felt like sparks of energy, like something almost indescribable. Spock’s hands reached around Leonard’s waist, slipped underneath his shirts and slid upwards across the skin of his back, and Leonard couldn’t stop the gasp that came out. 

_ I guess we’ve never really touched each other before, have we, _ Leonard thought, because he could, because he knew Spock could hear it and it seemed like a way better alternative to let him inside of his head than to separate so he could speak. 

It had to be true, because Leonard would have remembered something like this. Those weeks ago before Leonard had stormed out of Spock’s quarters, when Spock had held Leonard’s jaw in the palm of his hand and all that tenderness seeped through his skin, was the first time Leonard had ever felt anything like that, and it was nothing compared to Spock’s hands on him now, with both of their shields completely down, with everything out in the open. 

_ Never like this, _ Spock thought back, and his voice in Leonard’s head made him shiver. 

_ I didn’t know this was possible.  _

Spock took Leonard’s hand from where it still clung to the armrest, and guided it under his own uniform shirt, beneath his undershirt and over the skin of his stomach, to that spot on the side of his abdomen where his heart was. Leonard pulled back from the kiss for a second before he got lost in it all, in the feeling of Spock’s heart pounding underneath his hand, his voice in his head, his skin crazy warm and his eyes watching so closely through his lashes, the way he looked trapped in between the couch cushions with his hair messed up and his shirts pushed halfway up his chest and his slacks clearly and almost obscenely tented to show his arousal. And then Spock projected to him--again, even though he could have spoken out loud this time--and pulled at Leonard until he was straddling his lap. 

_ Your psionic sense can be used for pleasure in the same way as your physical senses.  _

If Spock had said that out loud his voice might have sounded rough and low and it could have mirrored how debauched he looked. Because he looked completely debauched in a way Leonard would never have expected from Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise, tilting his head back against the couch, baring the pale line of his neck and watching Leonard above him, one hand still gripping his thigh and the other underneath his shirt again, spread out against the skin of his lower back. But his voice was absolutely normal and flat and almost clinical, because it was his thinking voice and not his speaking one, and damn it if that wasn’t just as sexy. Leonard breathed out a laugh, at himself more than anything, and could feel Spock realizing the irony too. 

Leonard leaned forward to press their mouths together again. 

_ Is that so _ , he thought, and there was that warmth again blooming in Spock’s mind, the playfulness that preceded him attempting to tell one of his jokes. 

_ If you like, _ Spock’s voice cut through,  _ I will teach you. _

-

And then there was Spock above him, inside of him, holding him down against the mattress and making him fall apart, with his mind as much as he did with his body. Leonard couldn’t get over the way his voice sounded inside of his head, the feeling of his cock inside of him, hard and heavy and pounding into him like every thrust was as important to Spock as the need to breathe. He couldn’t get over the way he looked like that, eyes wild and hair messy and his skin flushed dark green. 

It wasn’t like Leonard didn’t know that Vulcans could blush. He knew that, on a medical, theoretical level, just like he knew that Vulcan blood was green and that their hearts were in the lower right abdomen and that Vulcan sex was passionate to a nearly aggressive degree. But all of it happening at once, lying underneath Spock with his skin flushed from the tips of his ears down to his stomach, experiencing the intensity of all of his attention at once, Leonard was absolutely floored. It was nothing he could have imagined, even with everything he knew about Vulcans.

Leonard had figured that considering their respective genetics, they were capable of making a pretty strong link between their minds, without even needing to go so far as to bond, like Vulcans and Humans sometimes did. It was kind of true; the two of them were able to communicate in ways that Leonard couldn’t with other Humans, because of Spock’s own predisposition to telepathy. But with the added element of physical touch, everything was magnified to an impossible degree. Especially now that their clothes were entirely gone. Now with the way they pressed their bodies together like they were trying to meld into one, holding tight enough to one another to leave bruises, Spock’s breath coming short and fast as he pressed his open mouth against Leonard’s neck. And the way his mind slipped into Leonard’s, in almost the same way that their bodies fit together,  _ god. _

And Spock was right, it turned out, because of course he was. His psionic sense could be used for pleasure, but it was more than that. It wasn’t just some sort of tool. That sense, that connection between their minds, it  _ was _ pleasure, plain and simple. It was like nothing Leonard had ever felt before. 

They had passed the point of words before they’d left the couch for the bed, but even when their own thoughts became incoherent it was clear that they didn’t need them anyway. Every abstract thought and feeling and desire and reaction flowed between them. It didn’t even matter who was doing what, because Leonard felt Spock’s pleasure as strongly in his own mind and body as he felt his own. They echoed every sound out of each other’s mouths, sounds Leonard would never have expected to come from Spock, or even to come from himself. 

All at once he felt wild and out of control and completely, absolutely safe. Anchored by Spock’s weight in a way that freed him to let go, to let his mind reach towards the farthest corners of the room, and to latch onto every piece of Spock’s as he did the same. It was impossible to tell who came first, only that all of a sudden the intensity of two orgasms crashed through him at once, and the whole universe went white. 

-

The come down was every bit as different, as new, as the sex had been. That pathway between their minds was like an anchor, like a reference point for Leonard to hold on to as he slowly came back to reality. And then Spock was there. Leonard didn’t know why that surprised him, that Spock was still there, collapsed on top of him and breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon. Leonard realized he was panting too, distantly, and his hand was shaky when he lifted it up to find Spock’s shoulder, his neck, the curve of his jaw. He just barely managed to pull him forward to plant a kiss on his sweaty forehead, still flushed green. 

_ That was….  _ Leonard’s thoughts trailed off. He couldn’t manage to finish the thought. He wouldn’t even have been able to say a single word out loud, probably, for the life of him. 

_ Yes, _ said Spock’s voice in his head, entirely coherent even though Spock was an absolute wreck on top of him. 

_ I didn’t know it would be like that.  _

_ Nor I, _ Spock thought, and Leonard’s hand stilled where it had been smoothing the hair back from his forehead. 

_ I thought you were supposed to be the teacher, here. _

_ Before tonight I had never been with somebody with psionic abilities equal to mine. It was new to me, as well.  _

Leonard breathed out a laugh even as his heart filled with something warm and satisfied and a little bit possessive, and he let his eyes fall closed. They stayed there like that, tethered together in Leonard’s bed, on top of the covers that they hadn’t even bothered to pull back. Finally their breathing started to go quiet and their heartbeats slowed down and Leonard could feel, as he fell asleep, the gentle, humming presence of Spock’s mind next to his. 

-

He had to tell Jim, obviously. At this point it was unavoidable. There was no possibility of explaining away what Jim had seen him do in sickbay yesterday. And the more he thought about it, there was no reason for him to try to explain it away, anyhow. The worst case scenario was that learning that his best friend was a little bit of a telepath would freak him out, and that wasn’t even that bad, to be honest. It was about time Leonard got back at him for the half a million times  _ Jim _ had freaked him out. 

He thought about waiting in his office after his shift ended, because Jim was bound to show up anyway, either to ask him outright what had just happened with Ensign Ramsey, or pretend he wasn’t going to ask about that and instead waste both of their time by asking how Leonard was _ doing _ . But when it came time for his lunch break, and there was still half a day to go before that conversation was due, Leonard decided he just needed to get it over with. So he made his way up to the bridge. 

“Bones!” Jim called out as soon as the turbolift doors opened, like he’d known he was coming. He gestured to wave him over to the Captain’s chair, probably to keep him company while they were charting a days-long course through a whole lot of nothing, but Leonard lingered awkwardly near the turbolift. He made the mistake of darting his eyes away from Jim (and his unsettlingly normal amount of cheeriness) and landing his gaze right on Spock, who just stared back at him, a little bit surprised, as if he’d forgotten that Leonard still lived and worked on this damn ship with him and they were bound to run into each other outside of the bedroom. So he jerked his focus back to Jim, who was now watching him with what could have been concern. 

Leonard cleared his throat. 

“Captain, can I have a word?”

Alright, now he definitely looked concerned. 

“Uhh, sure. Let’s go to the ready room.”

Once they were inside Jim didn’t even bother with any niceties. He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, and gave him a stern enough look to match the fact that Leonard had just called him  _ Captain _ for, maybe, the third time since they’d set off on this mission. 

“Why are you acting weird? And what the hell happened yesterday with Ensign Ramsey?”

Leonard sighed a little and dragged a hand down his face, and realized he’d just come all the way up here without stopping to think about exactly  _ how _ he wanted to have this conversation. 

“I saw it happen, Bones, we all did. Once second you’re scanning her vitals and then all of a sudden you rip your gloves off and touch her forehead and it looks like you’re having a stroke before you finally take your hand away and tell Chapel exactly where the parasite got in. It was like you figured that out just by _ touching _ her--”

“I did, Jim,” Leonard cut in, “that’s exactly how I figured it out.”

He watched Jim’s face filter through about a dozen different levels of confusion and shock, and he wondered why he ever even needed his psionic sense to read this man, because even now with his shields up, with that sense tucked away neatly in his brain like Spock had taught him to do, Jim was the human embodiment of the phrase  _ open book _ . 

“You…...how,” Jim finally asked, arms relaxing down to his sides. Leonard let out another, smaller sigh and joined him against the desk. “How did you do that.”

“Look, I’m gonna tell you this and you’re gonna think that I kept it secret from you all these years, but I promise I didn’t. Because I didn’t even know. Or I guess I knew deep down, for a while, I just tried not to think about it.”

“This is getting really cryptic.”

“Will you just give me one minute to try to explain,” Leonard huffed. 

“Explain what?”

“I’m a Betazoid.”

“Holy shit--”

“Well, I’m half Betazoid. That’s what we think. I’ve been meaning to get a hold of my adoption records to figure out where it came from.”

“Holy  _ shit, _ Bones!” Jim punched his shoulder lightly, and Leonard flinched a little bit, and tried to focus on a spot on the floor so he didn’t have to witness the full intensity of Jim’s reaction to the news. Jim didn’t allow it, and he yanked on his arm until Leonard reluctantly lifted his head up to face him. 

Jim wasn’t freaked out. At all. If anything he looked like he might be the single happiest person in the universe to have learned this. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, that’s how much his smile was taking over his entire face. 

“Do you know how cool that is?”

Leonard blinked at him. 

“I guess I don’t.”

“The CMO of the Enterprise.  _ My _ CMO. Half Betazoid. And here I already thought I had the best Doctor in the Fleet to run my ship. I didn’t even know the half of it.”

Jim snorted. 

“Ha. The  _ half _ of it. Get it.”

Leonard tried his best to give Jim the typical eye roll reaction he would’ve had at a joke like that, but it was hard to be even a little bit sarcastic, the way his body was nearly singing with relief. Relief that Jim didn’t have a negative response. Or even an ambiguous one. If anything, Jim was happier than Leonard would probably ever be about the fact that he was half Betazoid. 

“Yeah. Good one.”

“Wait, who’s we.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘that’s what  _ we  _ think’, who’s we?”

“Oh. Spock.”

Jim, bless his heart, managed to figure that one out on his own. 

“No  _ wonder _ you two were bonding all of a sudden! Was he teaching you how to do telepath stuff?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Leonard mumbled, and tried not to smile, or blush, at the thought. At both occasions when Spock had said those words  _ if you like, I will teach you _ . “He knew what I was before I did, apparently. Basically forced me to let him be my teacher.”

He might have been able to imagine Jim reacting so well, but he didn’t really think to expect it. And now he didn’t know what to say, either. He just watched as his friend, his Captain, took the news and ran with it excitedly. Probably the whole ship was going to know by the end of the week. 

“God, this is so cool. I can’t believe this.”

“Really,” Leonard asked. 

“ _ Yes _ , really. My First Officer is half Vulcan and my CMO is half Betazoid. I’m like the luckiest Captain ever.”

And Jim was still smiling so wide at him, unable to contain his glee at the idea that Leonard was a Betazoid. Leonard lowered his shields just a little bit, and let that excitement wash over him, and he didn’t stop the instinct to smile at it, too. Both Jim and Spock were of the same belief, apparently, that Leonard’s being half Human and half Betazoid was an entirely good thing, and maybe, after everything that happened in the last 24 hours, Leonard was starting to believe it too. 

-

Oddly enough, it was Spock who ended up coming to sickbay to find him after his shift. Leonard had just discharged Ensign Ramsey to her own quarters, and let the rest of his staff head out early, and he was standing in the middle of the now-empty sickbay and thinking about how much it felt like his life had changed just in the past two days. And then the doors swished open and Spock walked in. 

“Hi,” was all Leonard thought to say, because he was surprised to see him. And happy to see him. And desperate to see him, all at once. 

“You told Jim.”

“I did.”

“He appears to be reacting more positively than you did, during our first conversation about it.”

Leonard snorted. Spock approached him, finally, stepping away from the doors, and maybe it was unintentional the way he all but cornered him against one of the biobeds, walking close enough that Leonard found himself leaning against the edge. Or maybe it was entirely on purpose. 

“You know the saying ‘the messenger is the message’?”

“I have heard it before, I think.”

“That might have something to do with it.”

Spock gave him a look, a little bit quizzical and a little bit amused and a little bit blank, and reached forward to circle his hand around Leonard’s wrist, thumb tracing the soft skin below his palm. As soon as their bodies touched skin to skin, it was like Leonard didn’t even need to decide to lower his shields, they were already down, and his mind was already opening up and making a space for Spock. 

And Spock stepped even closer, in between Leonard’s legs, standing tall enough that Leonard had to crane his neck upwards to see that face again. 

_ I am happy for you, for your conversation with Jim _ , Spock said to him, through the link between their minds, and he didn’t have to say it, really, because Leonard could already feel the sentiment behind it, and it was entirely genuine. He didn’t even have it in him to come up with another sarcastic response. He just leaned back against the biobed and titled his face towards Spock, as his hands came up to frame his face, and the connection that was lost in the seconds after Spock had released his hold on Leonard’s wrist came back tenfold. 

_ And I am proud of you. _

“You’re really cheesy, you know that?” Leonard said out loud, to watch the flush in Spock’s cheeks at the accusation. Spock shrugged just slightly, like he was pretending to brush it off. 

“I could...never speak to you again, if you would like.”

Well, that just wouldn’t do. 

“No,” Leonard said, and then leaned up to press their mouths together, and finished his sentence in Spock’s head,  _ I like it. _

_ end.  _


End file.
